The Secret Theatre 9781350066212

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Anders Lustgarten

The Secret Theatre

Bloomsbury Methuen Drama An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

LON DON • OX F O R D • N E W YO R K • N E W D E L H I • SY DN EY

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Bloomsbury Methuen Drama An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc Imprint previously known as Methuen Drama

50 Bedford Square London WC1B 3DP, UK

1385 Broadway New York NY 10018, USA www.bloomsbury.com

BLOOMSBURY, METHUEN DRAMA

and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2017 © Anders Lustgarten, 2017

Anders Lustgarten has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the authors. All rights whatsoever in this play are strictly reserved and application for performance etc. should be made before rehearsals to Curtis Brown Group Ltd of Haymarket House, 28–29 Haymarket, London SW1Y 4SP. No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained. No rights in incidental music or songs contained in the work are hereby granted and performance rights for any performance/presentation whatsoever must be obtained from the respective copyright owners. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: PB: 978-1-3500-6527-7 ePDF: 978-1-3500-6621-2 ePub: 978-1-3500-6622-9 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Series: Modern Plays Cover design by Olivia D’Cruz Cover images: Queen Elizabeth: © iStock/duncan1890, screen © iStock/chictype, background © iStock/bombuscreative Typeset by Country Setting, Kingsdown, Kent CT14 8ES To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com. Here you will find extracts, author interviews, details of forthcoming events and the option to sign up for our newsletters.

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Introduction This intro contains massive spoilers ! Please don’t read it until you’ve seen (read) the play. The whole point of the allegory is you don’t need to know any of this until afterwards. As with all good allegories, we try not to step out of the world of the 1580s during the play itself (barring a knowing line here and there for your amusement). This play has been gestating for a long time. It began bubbling away when it became clear that the constant post-9/11 refrain of ‘security’ was leading us instead to vastly more insecurity. Insecurity has flooded into our lives from the rise of the surveillance state and our increasing awareness of constantly being monitored and scrutinised, but also from the multibillion-pound security industry and its militarisation of daily life. Both of them need the threat of terrorism to justify their colossal funding and expanding power, and so have led, pace sociologist David Graeber and his Bullshit Jobs,1 to Bullshit Terror. From the Macedonian government murdering six Pakistani migrant workers and claiming they were al-Qaeda operatives to get US money,2 to ISIS claiming credit for the Las Vegas killer Stephen Paddock, a redneck who barely spoke to his own brother let alone representatives of the Caliphate, ‘terrorism’ nowadays contains an awful lot of what we’ve taken to calling ‘fake news’. That doesn’t mean it’s all fictitious – what it tells us is that for the powerful, the structural incentive is to create fear, not dispel it. Politicians’ constant reiteration of ‘terror’ seeps into our brains. It makes us aware of possible dangers we hadn’t even thought of before. Once you start thinking of ‘security’, you can never stop and go back to innocence. But then why would that surprise us, when the creation of fear and insecurity is the hallmark of neo-liberal capitalism? 1. www.canberratimes.com.au/national/public-service/the-modernphenomenon-of-bullshit-jobs-20130831-2sy3j.html 2. www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/macedonia/ 1462562/Macedonia-staged-fake-terror-plot-to-woo-US.html

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The surveillance state comes from the same place as the zerohours contract, the eviction from ‘regenerated’ social housing, the slashing of basic services. It’s all intended to make us afraid, and thus fragmented, compliant, unwilling to resist. To make sure, even though we no longer believe There Is No Alternative, that we don’t take steps to find one. One of the direct consequences of the War on Terror has been the militarisation of the police, who’ve been equipped with the surplus military hardware even our numerous foreign wars didn’t need. And the consequence of that has been the violent criminalisation of dissent and the reaffirmation of existing inequalities. The sheer military power of the police in Ferguson or Barcelona made them look more like an occupying army than a legitimate democratic force, inflicting obscene violence on poor people looking for justice and old ladies trying to vote. This was all simmering in my brain even before Edward Snowden’s revelations in 2013. What was amazing about Snowden was how little changed in Britain as a result. In the US there were congressional investigations and restrictions on the out-of-control operations of the National Security Agency. In the UK, all we got was Tory grandee Malcolm Rifkind, head of the parliamentary Intelligence and Security Committee, telling us everything was fine at GCHQ (while also offering access to his democratic services for cash3) and we really needn’t worry. And largely, we didn’t. Nothing important changed. It continues to baffle the shit out of me that the British, who pride themselves on their respect for privacy, permit the imposition of more than six million CCTV cameras and a system of GCHQ data gathering that even the NSA said was over the top. I have a strong suspicion that it’s down to agency, the ability to do something about it, to put a face to the faceless machine. So let’s put a face to it. 3. www.telegraph.co.uk/news/investigations/jack-straw-and-sir-malcolmrifkind-did-offer-cash-for-access/>

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All these were things I wanted to investigate. But as a political writer, you can’t come through the front door. You have to creep up on the subject and climb in through the bathroom window. You have to surprise people, and yourself. And there hasn’t been much successful fiction on the rise of the surveillance state because naturally we tend to fixate on the (ultimately superficial) extent and means of the spying and less on the rationale and consequences behind it. I don’t normally write allegories and I never make the powerful and affluent my main protagonists, but like I said, you have to surprise yourself. And the more I dug into the story of Sir Francis Walsingham and the late-Elizabethan era, the more compelling a comparison it became. A regime struggling for legitimacy and desperately trying to craft a narrative to sustain it (more people were locked up and executed for political dissent per capita in the late Elizabethan era than any other period in British history). The hubris in believing you can control a shadowy entity with its own dark agenda. The obsession with control leading to a loss of control. There are aspects of the contemporary that don’t correlate entirely, most notably the corporate dimension (Facebook/ Google) to surveillance and data gathering, although that too has overt political consequences (Cambridge Analytica and Brexit). But that’s just more meat for you to chew over. Hopefully you’re still chewing. Anders Lustgarten October 2017

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Acknowledgements Greatest thanks for this play have to go to David Thacker, who made it my very first commission and helped me develop early drafts. And also to Laurence Lustgarten, aka my dad, who first pointed me in the direction of Francis Walsingham as a leading man. And especially to Matthew Dunster, Emma Rice and the Globe, who had the courage and commitment to make it happen. The play wouldn’t have happened without them. Thanks also to Purni Morell and the National Theatre Studio, and Justin Audibert and the Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury, who both helped me develop it further, and to all the actors in both readings. And thanks to Louise Mai Newberry and her brilliant notes, It’s been a long time coming, this one, and yet it couldn’t feel more timely. Thank you. This play is dedicated to Beat Beat, because she’s my best.

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The Secret Theatre originally premiered at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, Shakespeare’s Globe, on 16 November 2017 with the following cast and creative team: Queen Elizabeth I Robert Pooley Frances Walsingham Mary, Queen of Scots Sir Philip Sidney/ Robert Southwell/Adam Sir Francis Walsingham Anthony Babington/Miles John Ballard/Tom/ Doctor/Richard Topcliffe Sir William Cecil/ Thomas Palmer Thomas Phelippes/Davy

Tara Fitzgerald Edmund Kingsley Cassie Layton Sam Marks Aidan McArdle David Partridge Abraham Popoola Ian Redford Colin Ryan

Writer Anders Lustgarten Director Matthew Dunster Designer Jon Bausor Assistant Director Isabel Marr Choreographer Charlotte Broom Composer Alexander Balanescu Lighting Designer Malcolm Rippeth Costume Supervisor Laura Hunt Fight Directors Rachel Bown-Williams and Ruth Cooper-Brown Stage Manager Xenia Lewis Deputy Stage Manager Danni Bastian Assistant Stage Manager Lou Ballard

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The Secret Theatre

Espionage is the secret theatre of our society. John le Carré

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Characters Robert Pooley Miles Sir Francis Walsingham Thomas Phelippes Sir William Cecil Frances Walsingham Sir Philip Sidney Queen Elizabeth I Thomas Palmer John Ballard Anthony Babington Davy Tom Adam Guards Mary, Queen of Scots Recruiter Army Man 1 Army Man 2 Richard Topcliffe Robert Southwell Doctor Sir Charles Howard

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Scene One Whispers fill the room from different directions: ‘He lands at Arundel on the midnight tide . . . ’ ‘There is a priest, one Miles, who lodges at the sign of the White Hart . . . ’ ‘He may be apprehended there with another, a quicksilver man . . . ’ ‘The reward you promised would be most welcome. Do not mention my name.’ ‘Your Honour must make haste to apprehend this Miles, as one of the vilest heretics I have encountered . . . ’ ‘Anyone who names Miles a traitor is himself a traitor, for he merely dissembles as a Catholic to serve Her Majesty . . . ’ ‘The reward you promised . . . ’ ‘Would be most welcome . . . ’ ‘And I must beg of Your Honour . . . ’ (Altogether.) ‘Do not mention my name!’ Two spies at a table. Pause. Pooley Miles

We have a traitor. Impossible.

Pooley Four of our brothers are dead. How else can it be explained? Miles Pooley

But who would . . . ? And why – ? I don’t know, Miles. Do you?

Beat. Miles looks away and shudders. Miles Samuel’s heart was still beating when they ripped it from him. Pooley

You know this how?

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Miles Pooley

It is known. Known to whom?

Miles I was there. When they apprehended Samuel. It was only by grace of God and the Saints I escaped with my life. When I close my eyes I hear him screaming. Pooley Miles Pooley Miles Pooley Miles Pooley

By grace of God, or by corruption? Pooley, I swear upon my life I’m not the traitor. So you know there is one? I did not say – Take out your knife. You said to come unarmed. Take it out.

Beat. Miles pulls out a long sharp knife and brings it towards Pooley. Pooley That’s it. A little higher. Hold it there. Now . . . stab me through the heart. Miles Pooley Miles Pooley Miles

What? I’m the traitor. No. It’s true. Samuel loved you.

Pooley And I betrayed him. Betrayed all of them. He named them and I brought them to him, one by one. Miles Pooley Miles Pooley

Him? Who else? Walsingham. Walsingham. The last name he gave me was yours, Miles.

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Scene One Miles

Mine?

Pooley You are the Catholic ringleader, he said. The real prize. And the one I love the most. I cannot see you suffer. Through the heart. Please. Miles lays down the knife. Pause. Miles Pooley

But he knows . . . Who knows?

Miles Robin. Sweet Robin. The blessed relief, the weight from the spine. Pooley

What do you mean?

Miles We are on the same side! Of Master Secretary Walsingham and good Queen Elizabeth! My God, the relief ! To prise the mask from off my face . . . I was so lonely, so afraid, and all the time there were two of us! But why did Walsingham have two of us in the same plot? We must ask him – Pooley Miles

No, Miles. We will ask nothing. Why not?

Pooley (lifting the knife) Miles Pooley Miles

Because I am not the traitor.

No, but – You are. And there is only one fate for traitors. We are on the same side –

Pooley stabs Miles through the heart. Pooley Miles.

You swore on your life, did you not? Enjoy Hell,

He pulls out the knife and leaves the dead man slumped on the table.

5

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Scene Two Lights on a vast bank of folios. Sir Francis Walsingham, dressed soberly in black, sits at a desk, reading and annotating papers. His assistant Thomas Phelippes, a small, undistinguished man, brings files in and out. Dressed in more lavish garb and perusing the files with mixed admiration and displeasure is Sir William Cecil, Lord Burghley, Principal Secretary to Queen Elizabeth I and Walsingham’s superior. Cecil Jesuits. Sympathisers with Jesuits. Potential sympathisers with Jesuits. Critics of the Queen. Church attendance by name, parish and county. The ports. The industries: wool, copper, fish. The great families: dukes, marquises, earls, viscounts, barons. The regions: Scotland, Ireland, the Low Countries, France, Spain, the Vatican. English cities, Axminster to . . . Winchester. (To Walsingham, teasingly.) Nothing on Yarmouth, Francis? York? Walsingham (not looking up) space.

Around the back. Lack of

Cecil Oh. (He makes to check, then stops. Beat.) How do you retain it all? Walsingham Cecil

I have a memory system.

What kind of system?

Walsingham dead.

A man in Italy taught me. A man who’s now

Beat. Cecil

He was my spy, you know. Miles.

Walsingham

I know.

Cecil I nurtured him from a pup. I never had reason to doubt his fidelity. Walsingham

That is rather the point of a double agent.

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Scene Two

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Cecil And your man Pooley is more trustworthy? He’d persuade dawn not to break if he thought darkness would pay him better. Walsingham Pooley is further advanced in the graces of the Catholics than any of our agents. Cecil Because he killed the one who was most advanced before him. Walsingham That is how we move our pieces, William. To turn a pawn into a queen, other pawns must on occasion be sacrificed. Cecil Precipitate movement is not the most advisable stratagem, Francis. Take it from an old hand at the game. Walsingham Cecil

Miles was wavering. Defecting.

I saw no –

Walsingham They all do, in the end. They crack under the pressure of the mask and become that which they have feigned for so long. Or they lose their minds. In either instance, the final service they must render us is their death. And Miles’s death confers on Pooley legitimacy with the Catholics that is beyond the price of rubies. Thomas: the letter from Ambassador Mendoza to King Philip of Spain. Phelippes

Yes, my lord.

He fetches Walsingham a letter. Cecil scrutinises the files. Cecil

Barbary? I have no man in Barbary.

Walsingham I have two. The world is daily a more fractious and complicated place, William. It pays to keep abreast. (Scans letter.) The Spanish Ambassador complains of the English weather. Cecil

Not unreasonable.

Walsingham He notes bankers having too much money and the rest none.

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Cecil

If we tax them, they will leave.

Walsingham Then why have them? And he says he still cannot contact Mary, Queen of Scots. ‘Yet there is a new man, Pooley, who now presents himself as able to resolve Mary’s confinement.’ Cecil

We’ve heard this tale before.

Walsingham But I will give it a different ending. I will catch Mary, Queen of Scots in conspiracy with Spain, and Queen Elizabeth will then dispose of her. Cecil

Will she now?

Walsingham Yes, William, she will. And furthermore, I will also catch Robert Southwell, master of the Jesuit hellhounds, hang him at Tyburn with great fanfare and considerable suffering, and extirpate the threat of violent radicalism from England root and branch, once and for all. Cecil acknowledges this vaunting ambition with a nod of the head. Beat. Cecil The Queen doesn’t approve of the killing of queens. For obvious reasons. Walsingham Only one queen must die. I will ensure it is the Catholic fraud. Cecil ( gesturing at the files) Francis, all this . . . To monitor the communications of kings and princes is unseemly but unavoidable. That of radicals and subversives mere common sense. Walsingham

Mmm. Writers.

Cecil But to watch over every beermaker and lawyer and washerwoman? To expand our surveillance on such a massive scale? Walsingham William, all I know of the dark matters I owe to you. You will always have my respect and admiration. But the world is changing. Come to the window.

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He rises from his desk and moves over to a window. The two men stare out. Beat. London. A torrent of money from around the globe pours in, and a torrent of newcomers with it. With them comes a profusion of new ideas, heresies, temptations. The ancient codes of order fall away and new structures of thought emerge. Amid such tumult, and the threat of Spain, people lose their natural obedience to authority and begin to think themselves as good as any other. That road can only wend in one direction: towards revolution. Cecil A few hangings, a royal wedding, setting the poor against the recent immigrants – Walsingham The usual methods no longer suffice. We must control now not only by fear and by spectacle, but by knowledge. Of who men are, what they have done, what they might do. Cecil

What they might do?

Walsingham Is that not the essence of our work? To predict, and so to prevent? Cecil The actions of kings, not of every kitchen drudge and steeplejack. How can we know which of these numberless ranters and fantasists is dangerous? Walsingham not dangerous? Cecil

Surely the real question is which of them is

Your work is the talk of taverns across the town.

Walsingham

I would hope so.

Cecil These are the secret services, Walsingham, not a play for groundlings. Walsingham With respect, my lord, even a secret theatre requires an audience. If our secrets remain too secret, no one will know about them. (Beat.) No agent may quash a plot as well as the belief that one is sitting in the corner. It’s not

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enough that men are watched: they must think themselves watched, even when they are not. Knowledge, and the appearance of knowledge. Beat. Cecil They will complain. The commoners. They are not used to such scrutiny. Walsingham Then they should not talk so much and write so many letters. I am surprised at you, Lord Burghley. If I may be so bold. You were always the man to promote more expansive techniques. Cecil Francis, it is no secret that you wax as I wane in the Queen’s regard. Walsingham

Well now, a temporary eclipse . . .

Cecil There is, naturally, a part of me that resents your rise. And there is another, the better part, whose heart swells at the ascent of his protégé. Walsingham

Thank you, William, you are –

Cecil That part issues this warning: the Queen does not like to spend money. Walsingham it achieves – ?

How I know it. But surely, when she sees what

Cecil She resents the man who makes her do it, no matter what fruit it bears. Walsingham

Even if that fruit is Mary’s head?

Cecil Especially so. As much as she may also desire it. It is the royal blood, you see. In her eyes no commoner may shed it, or where may the world lead then? Perhaps blood is hard for you to comprehend, Francis, as the grandson of a shoemaker. Walsingham Great-grandson. Of a very successful trader in leatherworks.

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Scene Three Phelippes (to Walsingham) audience with the Queen. Cecil

11

It’s five o’clock, sir. Your

With the – ? I see. You won’t mind if I come along.

Walsingham (he does)

As you wish, my lord.

They exit. Phelippes stares after them.

Scene Three The court of Queen Elizabeth I. Men mill around watching each other, dressed flamboyantly in velvets and silks and furs and canaryyellow and blood-red scarlet. All eyes and muffled discussion turn to Walsingham and Cecil as they enter. Running the other way, distressed, comes Frances, Walsingham’s daughter, swiftly followed by her new husband, the courtier Sir Philip Sidney. Walsingham catches her as she runs past. Walsingham Sidney

Frances!

Ah, you’ve captured my runaway steed.

Walsingham

What is the matter?

Frances I am sorry, Father. It is . . . Philip and I were introduced to Her Majesty. To celebrate our marriage. I was so looking forward to it. I made my own dress. And Her Majesty said my ancestors cobbled shoes for a living – Cecil

Mmm.

Frances And I am no match for a courtier, and if she has her way I will cobble in the streets myself. Or earn my corn another way. Walsingham play. Sidney

It is merely the game of claws court women

You will get better at it as you spend more time here.

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Frances I do not wish to get better at it. Or to spend more time here. Walsingham

The Queen had plans for Sidney, that is all.

A diplomatic marriage to a French princess.

Sidney

Walsingham A match she had some need of, our relations with Europe being not what they were. I told her many times I would rather have you.

Sidney

Frances Why did you marry me to him if you knew it would displease her? Walsingham

The Queen will soothe.

As you spend more time here.

Sidney

Walsingham

Go home now, Frances.

Sidney ( quietly) And Frances? When you meet her again, do not turn your back on her. Be watchful always. As you would with a wild dog. Frances

Yes, Father. Yes, my lord.

She leaves. Cecil (to Sidney)

Wild dog, eh?

Sidney I’m sure you’ve called her worse, Lord Burghley. In fact, I’ve heard you do it. (Beat.) I must staunch my wife’s wounds. Walsingham Sidney

Come for dinner this week, Philip.

Of course, we would be –

Walsingham a friendly ear.

Alone. There are matters which could use

Sidney Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Francis. (Nods at Cecil, much less warm.) Lord Burghley. He leaves. Cecil makes a gesture of moving a chess piece. Cecil

Again, you move your pieces too intemperately.

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Scene Three

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Walsingham Court rumour has it you tried engaging Sidney to your Anne. Cecil

I looked at it. He was too poor.

Walsingham A good reason to proceed, I’d have thought. A point of leverage. But also I like him. And I trust him. He was there, you know. Paris. Trumpets sound. What do you think? Knees? Cecil Forehead, on this occasion. The cool kiss of marble on the scalp. They sink first to their knees. Cecil hesitates. Cecil Yesterday Her Majesty kept me so long prostrate, one of her footmen had to help me to my feet. My back. They bend so their foreheads touch the ground. From the shadows emerges Queen Elizabeth I, clad in the glittering regalia of the Hatfield House portrait, deeply entangled in her own mythology. The woman inside is intelligent, malicious and haunted. She looks at them. Beat. Elizabeth

Up.

They get up, Cecil clutching his back. Elizabeth Another dreadful summer. The rain makes my bones ache. What are you doing here, William? I did not ask for you. Cecil

No, but I thought –

Elizabeth Cecil

You’re not needed. You may go.

Your Majesty –

Elizabeth

Have your back seen to.

Beat. Cecil departs. Elizabeth fixes a gimlet eye on Walsingham. Pause. Elizabeth Well, Walsingham. Am I still to be assassinated with a poisoned shoe?

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Walsingham

Not imminently, Madam. By my information.

Elizabeth It availed me nothing to throw out my whole wardrobe, then. Walsingham My wife makes frequent changement of her vestiture. I imagine Your Majesty is the same. Elizabeth

What of the terror of the poisoned stirrup?

Walsingham Merely because a plot did not succeed does not gainsay our work against it. Indeed, it is oft on account of our precautions it does not bear fruit. Elizabeth Then anything may be a potential plot, may it not? And its lack of existence taken for evidence of your ingenuity? So pray tell me, Master Secretary: how may we mere mortals, without the advantages of your intelligence, tell truth from fiction? Walsingham

Trust.

Elizabeth If I ran my kingdom on trust, I’d have been dead by my first Thursday. Walsingham That all I do is, and has always been, for the security of the realm. Elizabeth And how does marrying your simpering little daughter to Sidney fit in? Though I suppose that’s no more than to be expected from a man whose grandfather bought his gentry. Walsingham

Great-grand –

Elizabeth There is a monstrous fish lately pulled from the Thames, like none seen before. What do you think it signifies? Walsingham imagine. Elizabeth

Signifies? A happy fisherman, I would

You do not believe in portents, then? Omens?

Walsingham When I was a child, my mother swore she heard spirits coming up the stairs like bees. I went to see.

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Scene Three Elizabeth

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And what was it?

Walsingham

Bees, Your Majesty.

Elizabeth Do you believe you have some monopoly on the truth? That there is only one way to order the world, and you know it better than other men? Walsingham Elizabeth

No, Your Majesty.

Yet you are trying to own it all. At my expense.

Walsingham

I am protecting your state.

Elizabeth Are you? Or are you building one of your own? Lord Burghley has told me of your swelling empire of paper. Walsingham Elizabeth

Who is to pay for that?

Walsingham Elizabeth

How considerate of him. I myself have borne the brunt of it.

Thus far.

Walsingham Your Majesty, it is common knowledge that King Philip of Spain prepares an invasion force for these shores. Elizabeth

I see no sign of it.

Walsingham Elizabeth

It is a secret force.

Then how can it be common knowledge?

Walsingham King Philip possesses men and money we cannot hope to match. He has the blessing of the Pope and the fervent support of all Catholics. Mary of Scots stints nothing to encourage him and her usurpation of your crown. The only way we can combat such opposition is to know their actions before they do. Beat. Elizabeth Look at the way you dress. No one else comes to my court like they’re in mourning for their life.

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Walsingham Elizabeth

After St Bartholomew’s Day –

That again.

Walsingham

It was in your service, Madam.

Elizabeth Your tales are stale, Walsingham. I’ve heard them all before. Walsingham It is proof positive of Catholic malice. My only intent is to preserve you from that same end, the only end they have in store for all of us – Elizabeth I know you intelligencers. The only security you truly care about is your own. I’ve been hearing of this ‘invasion’ for ten years but it never happens. No money for your sneaking about and earwigging. Walsingham

Your Majesty –

Elizabeth There will be no more money! (Beat.) Bees. Yes. Wasps. Have you seen their nests? They remind me of your parchment files, chewed up, secreted and gummed together again with spittle. It’s an image that always pops into my head whenever I see you. Good day, Walsingham. She turns and sweeps out in a blare of trumpets. Blackout.

Scene Four Walsingham in a crowded London street with Phelippes. Walsingham Money! Always money! As if a value can be placed upon security. Phelippes

Yes, sir.

Walsingham Phelippes

Well, can it?

No, sir.

Walsingham

Security at any price!

He breaks down coughing.

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Scene Four

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Phelippes Your health, sir. Do not overtax yourself, we know you are in no state to – A man bumps into Walsingham. Phelippes

Oi!

He goes to accost the man, who stops outside a tavern. Walsingham

Wait. Amuse me, Thomas. What is he about?

Phelippes (sizing him up) Walsingham Phelippes a whistle.

He’s here to make an impression.

How can you tell?

He wears a borrowed jerkin, scrubbed clean as

Walsingham

Why borrowed?

Phelippes It’s a size too large and fastens for a left-hander, whereas our man uses his right. Walsingham make? Phelippes

Excellent. What impression does he wish to

On a girl?

Walsingham No. Regard the hand: when it rests by his side, he cannot stop its quivering. This is a man who likes a drink and has come to beg for his job back. He goes to the man. Thomas Palmer. Palmer

Who’s asking?

Walsingham Palmer. Palmer

No one is asking. I am telling. You are Thomas

How do you know?

Walsingham Formerly tavern keeper here at the Golden Hinde. You lost your job due to over-fondness for that which you were supposed to vend. Palmer

Who are you?

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Walsingham Do you know who frequents this place, Master Palmer? Palmer

Couldn’t say.

Walsingham ( flips him a gold coin) Palmer

Now could you say?

Possibly.

Walsingham flips him another. Palmer

I could. Very well. Sir.

Walsingham Good. Twice a week you will report who comes and goes here to this man – (Indicating Phelippes.) And each time you shall receive another of those. Five, if you lead me to Robert Southwell or any other Jesuit. Palmer

I have seen Southwell here before, sir.

Walsingham

Once more will suffice. We’ll be in contact.

Palmer nods, bows, leaves. Phelippes

You knew him.

Walsingham Phelippes

I did.

That’s cheating. Of what use is a drunk, sir?

Walsingham A drunk with a grudge, and a desire to prove himself ? Much use. Men’s weaknesses are more useful than their merits, Thomas. Remember that. Phelippes

I shall, Master Secretary.

Walsingham I know this place for a nest of seminaries, but I could never find a way to monitor its movements. And now we have a man who may linger outside it every day without being noticed. Phelippes Why Southwell, sir? Surely he’s too fervent to be trusted with much practical information? Walsingham He’s their propagandist, Thomas, their chief spreader of stench and muck across the land. And their painted icon glowing rich and proud. In a sea battle, one

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strikes most fear into the enemy by sinking their flagship. It gives the enterprise the stink of mortality. When I hang Southwell high at Tyburn, you will hear the groans of Catholic despair clear across the north country. Now, where is Pooley? He should be – He turns. Pooley is right next to him. Walsingham jumps a little. Walsingham

Ah. Pooley.

Pooley They are in the lower chamber. There’s a hidden alcove above. Follow. Lights on a feast inside, with several Catholics deep in their cups. Among them are John Ballard, wearing a cape laced with gold and a black hat with silver buttons, and Anthony Babington, young, goodlooking, naive, in a cut-silk doublet. The atmosphere is more grandiose showing off and drinkers’ dreams than plausible revolution. Pooley leads Walsingham and Phelippes silently upstairs, where they observe the conspirators from the shadows. Ballard

Sixty thousand men!

Walsingham

Is this our man?

Pooley No, my lord. The man you seek is Anthony Babington. Ballard This summer! Sixty thousand Catholic warriors coming this summer! Walsingham

He sounds like our man.

Babington Hush, John. Some discretion, or we’ll all be caught before – Ballard To cut the cancer that is Elizabeth out of oppressèd England! (He climbs on the table and roars.) Sixty thousand men! The other Catholics cheer drunkenly. Walsingham Pooley

Do they have sixty thousand men?

In this chamber I count five, my lord.

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Babington Ballard himself !

Sit down, John.

I’ve heard it from the lips of Ambassador Mendoza

Babington

But have you heard it from the rightful queen?

The ebullience ebbs from the room. Ballard stumbles from the table to his chair. Pooley

This is Babington.

Babington We have heard nothing from Queen Mary. We do not even know if she would sanction the removal of Elizabeth the pretender. Ballard

Then speak to her. You are the one she trusts.

Babington I have tried, many times. But she is imprisoned fast at Chartley by that hatchet-faced old Puritan Amias Paulet, who admits not a breath of air lest first it swears itself to Elizabeth. Ballard

Excuses.

Babington Pooley

It is no simple matter.

Perhaps I may be of assistance.

He enters the room, rolling in front of him an empty beer barrel. Babington (smitten) Ballard (hateful)

Robin!

Pooley.

Phelippes How did he get down there? He was right here a second ago. Walsingham

Shhh.

Pooley Anthony is right. Nothing moves in nor out of Chartley. Except one thing. (He shakes the barrel.) Beer. Even a Puritan will not deny a Scotswoman beer. Every week new barrels go in, old barrels come out, carried by the same man. An honest brewer. For a smidgeon of gold he’s agreed to add something to his cargo.

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He reaches into the barrel and pulls out a leather tube with a cork plug, which he removes. He pulls a message from the tube, unscrolls it, and holds it up. Now all we require, gentlemen, is a good cipher. A buzz of congratulation and excitement is swiftly cut short by Ballard. Ballard

Walsingham. You’re working for Walsingham.

Consternation among the Catholics and Phelippes, who sits forward in alarm. Walsingham stills him with a hand. Pooley doesn’t bat an eyelid. Pooley

Why do you say that, John?

Ballard, a big man, lurches into Pooley’s face. Ballard A friend of mine, I won’t say who because you’ll have him killed, saw you enter Walsingham’s house. Last week. You were there more than two hours and you left with money. Beat. Pooley gives nothing away. Ballard You don’t deny it, do you? You cunt. You’ll catch us in the act of writing to Mary and get us all hanged. Miles was a friend of mine, a very good friend, and you – Pooley Miles was a traitor to the Catholic cause, John. I am not a traitor. I am the man who liberates us from traitors. Ballard

I’ll tell you what you are –

Pooley I was in Walsingham’s house last week, yes. Would you like to know why? On the recommendation of Morgan – you know who Morgan is, yes, John? Queen Mary’s man in Paris? – I am now in the service of his daughter Frances, the new Lady Sidney. And thus able to discover much intelligence. Ballard And why would Walsingham take a servant sent by our most notorious man? Walsingham Oh, I’ve had many an interesting gift from Master Morgan.

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Pooley They’re all in contact with him. Did you not know that? All our best and brightest men. Morgan. Gilbert Gifford. Charles Paget. Perhaps even you, John. Dealing. Offering. Flattering. Why? Who knows why? Some to hedge their bets, I suppose. Some to plead their cases: for restitution, forgiveness, return. Some believe Walsingham himself may be turned, and seek to seduce him. And some for the reason the rabbit stares into the terrible black eyes of the snake: because it is bewitched by the strange beauty of terror. But they all do it. Ballard Pooley

All except you, of course. All except me. Of course.

He passes a document to Babington without looking at him. Babington scans it quickly. Pooley I found this in Walsingham’s files. A copy of his letter to Miles, with a list of targets. All our names are here.

Babington Ballard

It’s a fake. It has Walsingham’s signature.

Babington Ballard

And how would you know his signature, Anthony? Every man knows the devil’s mark.

Babington

Pooley I wonder that Morgan did not inform you of his plan, John. Perhaps he doesn’t trust you. Since you are a ‘very good friend’ of the traitor Miles . . . Beat. Ballard lurches away and collapses back into his chair. Ballard ( plaintively) Walsingham

Sixty thousand men . . .

A remarkable one, isn’t he?

Pooley The King of Spain grows impatient, gentlemen. Now is the time to act. Phelippes

You let Pooley into your house?

Walsingham

My daughter’s house.

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Phelippes Do you think that’s wise, sir? Did you give him that letter, or did he take it? Walsingham stares hard at Phelippes. Pooley Shall I let the brewer know to expect your message, Anthony? Babington stares irresolutely at Pooley, then Ballard, then at the barrel. Babington

Give me time, Robin.

Pooley runs a hand down the side of Babington’s face. Babington melts. Ballard turns away in disgust. Pooley

We cannot brook any more delay.

Babington

Just a little more time.

The conspirators disperse, leaving Babington staring at the barrel. Walsingham

Have him brought to me.

Phelippes Babington?! But then he will know we are watching him. Walsingham

Bring him to me, Thomas. Soon.

Scene Five Three Wiltshire men, Davy, Tom and Adam, drinking in a tavern. Davy rises. Davy

My round, boys.

Adam

Not afore time.

Davy leaves. Tom leans over to Adam and whispers urgently. Tom Adam

Still your lips when old Davy’s about. Why?

Tom Don’t you know? He was seen coming out the big house ’fore they took Mickey Nunnery for recusancy. They’re

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saying he was the one told squire ’bout Mickey praying to saints. Adam

Who’s saying? Who’s seen?

Tom Don’t matter who, does it? Don’t matter to Mickey Nunnery. Adam

Matters if it’s true or no.

Tom Everyone knows squire’s in touch with London, sending up reports and that. What’s Davy doing up the big house if not that? Adam

He don’t get on with squire, I know that for a fact.

Tom How’s he afford them drinks? Been out of work these past three months. Adam Tom

Shhh. He’s coming back. I got to take a piss. Hark at what I said.

He leaves. Davy comes back with drinks. Beat. Davy Adam Davy

Well? Like you said he would. Told you.

Adam How you was seen with squire ’fore Mickey Nunnery got took. Davy Adam Davy Adam

Been spreading that round the whole village. Thought you and him was friends. So did I. So you weren’t never up the big house?

Davy I don’t get on with squire. All people knows that. Bastard’s trying to enclose the common and steal my fucking sheep, and I won’t let him. Needs a fucking axe to his throat. All them thieving bastards do, our lovely vicious Queen above all. Time to rip this country up by its fucking roots.

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Scene Five Adam Davy Adam

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So why would Tom tell me you was up there then? How should I know? Only one reason, seems to me.

Beat. Davy Adam

No. Cast suspicion on someone else.

Beat as they consider. Davy

Thought you and him was close.

Adam We are close. So was me and poor old Mick. (Beat.) I gotta get some air, think about it all. Don’t say nothing to him. He leaves. Tom comes back from the toilet and sits. Pause. Tom

Well, Davy.

Davy

Well, Tom. (Beat.) That day Mickey Nunnery got took –

Tom Poor bastard. Heard he screamed summat awful when they lashed him. Davy

Heard?

Tom Weren’t there, was I? Away that whole fortnight. At the wife’s family near Steeple Ashton. Beat. Davy

You and Adam.

Tom

Aye?

Davy

You’ve always been close.

Tom

Like brothers.

Davy

He’s just told me something.

Tom

Oh, aye?

Davy Said he reckons you’re telling people about me seeing squire – Tom

I’m not telling people –

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Davy Beat. Tom

I don’t believe you. Me and Adam are like brothers.

Davy

Ask him yourself.

Tom Why would I believe that from a man been seen coming out of big house? Davy

Who’s seen me? You’ve seen me?

Tom

I ain’t seen you, like I says I weren’t there, but –

Davy way.

I hates squire. He’ll put me on the road if he gets his

Tom

Then why would Adam – ?

Davy I don’t know, Tom. But I can think of a reason, can’t you? Make sure he’s the only bugger no one’s talking of. (Beat.) Here he comes now. Ask him yourself. Adam returns and sits. Beat. Adam

Alright, boys.

Davy

Alright, Adam.

Tom

Alright, Adam.

The men stare at one another amid an atmosphere of hostility and tension. Pause. Adam

Who wants another?

Blackout.

Scene Six Walsingham’s study, late at night, illuminated only by low-burning candles which cast threatening shadows across the room. Walsingham sits at his desk; in a low chair across from him, huddled, desperately uncomfortable, sits Babington. Pause.

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Scene Six Walsingham Babington Walsingham

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No one knows you are here, Anthony. How are you sure of that? It is rather my job. To keep secrets.

Beat. Babington I don’t know why you have brought me here, Master Secretary. I can do you no service. Walsingham Then perhaps I can do you one. You wish to go abroad, do you not? Your friend Master Pooley mentioned it to me. Babington

Pooley.

Walsingham You do know him. Don’t you? He’s a man in my daughter’s employ. Seems an honest fellow. He sought me out to say a friend of his, a Catholic gentleman but true to the Queen, seeks permission to leave the country. Babington Walsingham Anthony?

I . . . may have mentioned it to him – Is there a reason you wish to go abroad,

Babington The life of the mind . . . quiet contemplation of Tuscan art . . . Walsingham Admirable. But you are not long returned from such a tour. Why go again? Now? Beat. Babington (limply)

The weather . . .

Walsingham There’s nothing you wish to avoid? No scheme you wish to disentangle from? Babington

No, sir!

Walsingham Because if there were, there are better ways than to flee. In these straitened times, Anthony, men are divided into two blocs. (He brings his hand down like a blade.) Friend, and foe. But that does not mean a man may not move between the two. From danger to safety.

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Babington Walsingham Babington Walsingham

How might he do so? By proving his amity to his new friends. By what means? I was hoping you’d tell me that.

Babington looks around fearfully. Walsingham I don’t know what you’re looking for, Master Babington. I suppose you’ve heard tales of Topcliffe of the Tower and the various indignities he perpetrates upon the human form. Crude exaggerations. I can’t for the life of me think why people believe them. (Beat.) There is no Topcliffe here, Anthony. Only two men, who might become friends, talking. Pause. Babington I would with all my heart have your amity, Master Secretary, and prove mine to you. But I have no means by which to do so. Walsingham Babington

None at all? No, my lord.

Walsingham In your various peregrinations, you’ve never heard talk of a stratagem by which to link Mary of Scots and Philip of Spain? Babington

No, my lord.

Walsingham The names of Morgan and Mendoza mean nothing to you? Babington

Only by reputation, my lord.

Walsingham And there is nothing I can promise you, assurances of gold or of safety, which might persuade you to discovery of such matters? Pause. Babington is seriously tempted. Babington (low, head down)

No.

Walsingham stares at Babington, then suddenly rises and holds out his hand.

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Walsingham Well, Anthony. Thank you for coming to see me. I apologise for using up your time. I’ll look into the matter of your travels. Babington rises unsteadily to his feet, picks up his hat and, after a moment’s hesitation, shakes Walsingham’s hand. Thank you, Master Secretary.

Babington

He is relieved – he thinks he’s past the worst of it. He starts to leave. Walsingham Oh, by the way: I’ve asked your friend John Ballard to meet you at my gate. A look of sheer horror crosses Babington’s face. But you said no one knew I was –

Babington

Walsingham So I can’t be accused of mistreating you. No injuries, have you? As I said, there is no Topcliffe here. Babington stares at him for a moment, horror being replaced by fury, then storms out. Walsingham smiles wolfishly after him.

Scene Seven Babington paces alone, paper and quill in hand. The beer barrel sits accusingly in front of him. Upstage and to one side, Phelippes, seated at a desk, and Walsingham, standing behind him, observe. Phelippes You never intended to get information from him, did you, sir? Walsingham If he’d talked, I would have taken it. But he was loyal. So that is what I will use against him. He has a coughing fit worse than before. Phelippes looks at him with concern. Phelippes

That’s worse, sir. Maybe you should –

Walsingham irritably waves the suggestion away. Walsingham

What do men of Babington’s stamp fear most?

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Phelippes

I wouldn’t know, sir. I’m not of his ‘stamp’.

Walsingham Phelippes

Well, guess, Thomas.

Running out of hair cream?

Walsingham Loss of honour. For a man like Babington, honour is all. The Catholics now talk of his treachery in visiting me. And though he knows I am watching, there is only one thing he can do to prove his fidelity to their cause, and honour will trump fear. Babington begins to write. As he does, the ciphers in which he is writing flash up for us to see. As the ciphers come up, Phelippes starts scribbling a translation. Phelippes (translating) ‘This great and honourable action, upon which depends not only the life of your most excellent Majesty, but the honour of our country.’ Walsingham

You’re very quick.

Phelippes It’s an easy one, sir. Substitution, transposition, a handful of nullities. All in della Porta’s book of ciphers. Not very bright, the heretics. Walsingham

Continue.

Phelippes ‘As to the invasion, there is sufficient strength in the invader. Ports to arrive at appointed, with a strong party at every place to join with them. The deliverance of Your Majesty to be effected by myself and six worthy gentlemen.’ Babington (muttering to himself ) Who for the zeal they bear the Catholic cause and your Majesty . . . Will undertake that tragical . . . He hesitates, stops writing. Tension among the spies. Pooley emerges from the darkness. He unbuttons Babington’s shirt, kisses his neck, whispers something in his ear. Babington finishes the letter. Pooley vanishes into the dark.

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Phelippes ‘Who for the zeal they bear the Catholic cause and Your Majesty, will undertake that tragical execution: the dispatch of the Usurper Elizabeth.’ Babington looks for Pooley but he is gone. He seals up the letter in the leather tube and places it into the barrel, which he rolls away into the darkness. Walsingham

And now we await Mary’s response.

Pause. Tension. The barrel rolls back. Babington seizes it and pulls out the tube, but as he opens it armed men emerge and seize him. Walsingham takes the message from his hand and reads it aloud. Walsingham work . . . ’

‘Then it be time to set the six gentlemen to No . . . Please . . .

Babington Walsingham place . . . ’

‘That I may be transported out of this I did not . . . Robin!

Babington Walsingham entirely.’

‘And my cousin Elizabeth to another realm ROBIN!

Babington

Nooses drop from the ceiling. Ballard is dragged onstage. Babington and Ballard’s heads are shoved through them. Elizabeth enters. She stares frostily at Walsingham as he hands her the message. She reads it briefly, then looks up. Beat. Elizabeth

It suffices for the removal of the traitors. No . . . NO!

Babington

A trapdoor snaps open and the nooses snap tight, juddering with the men’s weight. Elizabeth

It does not suffice for the removal of a queen.

Walsingham

But Your Majesty –

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She waves a hand and moves off. The corpses of Babington and Ballard are cut down and hauled off. Walsingham gestures peremptorily in the other direction. Palmer hurries on, very nervous, pushed forward by Phelippes. Walsingham Palmer? Palmer

You’ve been very generous, sir.

Walsingham other Jesuit? Palmer

You’re not allowed to know that.

What sympathies?

Walsingham Palmer

A man accuses you of Catholic sympathies,

Who?

Walsingham Palmer

Alert them to danger.

Not on my life.

Walsingham Palmer. Palmer

But you may make them disappear.

No, sir!

Walsingham Palmer

And yet not a word of Southwell nor any

I cannot magic them from the sky, Your Honour.

Walsingham Palmer

How much money have you had of me,

You’re not allowed to know that either.

Then how am I to disprove the accusations?

Walsingham You’re not. I’m minded to have you locked up, Palmer. Or worse. Palmer

Please, my lord, I will do anything.

Walsingham Palmer

Who said – Yes sir, the best in my regiment.

Walsingham Palmer

I’m told you’re good with a gun. Mmm. You still have one?

I do, sir.

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Walsingham I may be able to use you after all. Meet me in Kensington Gardens, tomorrow, one o’clock. Bring the gun. Palmer Yes, sir. Kensington Gardens? Is that not the Queen’s pleasure – Walsingham

Are you still asking questions?

Palmer No, sir. Only . . . how am I to enter? I can scarce scale the walls. Walsingham holds out a hand. Phelippes produces an ornate heavy iron key and puts it in his palm. Walsingham

With a key, Palmer. Like any normal person.

Palmer stares at the key then at Walsingham, the swirlings of suspicion in his mind. Beat. He has no choice. He takes the key and pockets it. Palmer

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

He scrambles quickly away.

Scene Eight Kensington Gardens. Roses and sunlight. Walsingham enters with Elizabeth. A couple of armed Guards trail behind, heads swivelling. Elizabeth When I go for a walk, Walsingham, it is to escape the suffocating closeness and intrigue of the court. To clear my head and lungs of men like you. So the very last thing I want is to find you here, stuck to my boot like a lump of – Walsingham I would be remiss, Madam, if in such tenuous times I permitted our heirless Sovereign to wander unprotected. And besides, who could resist your gardens on an afternoon such as this? Elizabeth Indeed? I had you marked more for a lover of darkness than of light.

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Walsingham Appearances can be deceptive. Isn’t that Artemisia absinthium? Elizabeth

Is that a serious question?

Walsingham Wormwood. It is indeed. A fine ornamental specimen. Native predominantly to the Caucasus. Elizabeth

You are a man of numerous surprises.

Walsingham I’ve always had a soft spot for gardening. Green life bursting from the soil. The joys of tending and nurturing. Deciding which of your charges lives, and which dies. Palmer appears in the corner of the garden. Elizabeth

Who is that?

Walsingham Elizabeth

No idea. Gardener, I expect.

He doesn’t dress like a gardener.

Walsingham

I wouldn’t be too concerned. It’s quite secure.

Palmer spots Walsingham and moves eagerly towards him. Elizabeth

He’s coming this way. Walsingham! He’s coming!

Walsingham Elizabeth

So he is.

Do something!

Walsingham

Of course, Your Majesty. Guards.

Guards (cocking their weapons)

Aye, sir.

Walsingham Be ready. (He steps forward to protect the Queen.) You there! Are you armed? Show your weapon! Show your weapon, I say! Palmer pulls his gun out of his coat in bemusement. Palmer

But –

Walsingham

Fire!

The Guards shoot. Palmer falls dead to the floor. Walsingham goes to him.

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Scene Eight Walsingham (bending over the body) walking next time.

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Watch where you’re

He rifles Palmer’s pockets and pulls out the key. The Guards drag the body away. Elizabeth

He had a . . . He was going to . . .

Walsingham

He did indeed. He also had a key.

He hands it to her. How many personages have a key to the gardens? She ignores him, turning the key over in her hands. Beat. Madam? How many members of the Court – Elizabeth Beyond Burghley and yourself, only those closest to me. The women of my bedchamber and such. Walsingham Then I’m afraid you must begin to doubt even their fidelity. Mary has spies and turncoats everywhere. Elizabeth explodes, attacking Walsingham with her hands and arms, beating and clawing him around the head. He does not resist. Elizabeth You should have protected me! I could have been killed! It’s your fucking job to protect me! The storm relents as suddenly as it sprung up. She sinks back, exhausted. Beat. She hands him the key, which he pockets. Beat. Elizabeth

What did you say to him?

Walsingham Elizabeth

A simple blessing.

Christian of you.

Walsingham Even heretics deserve such. Though they tread an alien path in life, we do not deny them salvation in death. Elizabeth

Benevolence.

Walsingham An indispensable quality I learned from Your Royal Highness.

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Beat. Elizabeth Call in at the Treasury on your way home. I’ll intercede with them on your behalf. You cannot be expected to fund our security entirely from your own pocket. Walsingham bows respectfully. Elizabeth And Francis? There is another matter I wish you to take in hand. Walsingham

Indeed, Madam?

Elizabeth You know what it is. She is the carnosity that continues to grow and must perforce be excised, once and for all. Walsingham Indeed, Madam. I will send Sir William Davison. With the warrant of execution. Elizabeth nods. The sun and roses disappear and darkness falls. Drumroll, then Mary, Queen of Scots shuffles from the darkness, blindfold, legs chained, clad in blood-red satin with an ivory crucifix round her neck. A huge masked executioner lays her head on the block and raises his axe. Mary In te, Domino, confido me, Confundar in eternum, In manas tuas, Domine, Commendo spiritum meum – The executioner swings. He gets it wrong. The axe bites deep into the back of Mary’s head. Her screams of agony and suffering are half muffled by the block. Elizabeth turns away, nauseous. Walsingham watches fervently. Panicked, the executioner swings again but only completes half the job. It takes three swings before Mary’s severed head rolls to Walsingham’s feet. He picks it up and looks at it. Walsingham (quietly, to himself) Elizabeth (shaken) Walsingham

The secret theatre.

Does it suffice? It must suffice.

For what?

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For my security.

Walsingham

Not entirely.

Phelippes enters and takes the head away. Elizabeth

Then what will?

Walsingham

A war.

Beat. Elizabeth

A what?

Walsingham Elizabeth

Not a big one.

Not a big one?!

Walsingham

Not here. In the Low Countries.

Elizabeth You assured me Mary’s removal would end Philip’s menace. Walsingham

Menace, yes. Malice, no.

Elizabeth I killed a queen, Walsingham! Because you told me to! Because you told me it would end Spain’s threat. Walsingham The targets shift. The methods change. The threat, the malice: they remain, Majesty. Elizabeth I killed a queen. Do you have any idea what that means? (Pause.) You said yourself, we cannot fight a war. We lack troops, armaments, money – Walsingham Which is why we get the Low Countries to fight one for us. Her Protestant rebels are already scorching Spain’s grasping fingertips. Throw a little English kindling on to the blaze, and let’s see if we can’t burn them off altogether. The longer Spain fights in Holland, the later she comes to our ill-defended shores. Elizabeth

And precisely what ‘kindling’ do you propose?

Walsingham In these days, Majesty, men displaced by enclosure of the common land cluster in every town, clog every highway, shouting for bread and justice. I’ve heard you complain of them many times.

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Elizabeth

Layabouts and vagabonds. Scum of the earth.

Walsingham Our intelligence notes a marked rise in dissent among them. Calls for your overthrow. Elizabeth

They should be hanged.

Walsingham Or sent to the Low Countries. To fight a heroic war of liberation. Pause. Elizabeth

Interesting. Proceed.

Walsingham starts to leave. Elizabeth

Send Sir Philip Sidney with them.

Walsingham The command lies with My Lord of Leicester, as rightly it should. Elizabeth Sidney is Leicester’s favourite nephew, is he not? Let him accompany your gallant venture, to keep the men’s spirits up. With his poems. Walsingham

But Your Majesty –

She smiles malevolently and disappears. Blackout.

Scene Nine A busy London street. An army Recruiter stands atop a box. A crowd of people gathers around him. Recruiter Will you stand idly by while a tyrant slaughters their own people? Will you allow a dictator who respects neither life nor religion to go unpunished, who now sets their sights on your homes and livelihoods? On your honour as Englishmen – A poor man at the back pipes up: Davy from the tavern, more ragged than before. Davy Excuse me, sir? Is Philip of Spain the tyrant you speak of ? Or Elizabeth?

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Laughter from the crowd. Two army men appear on either side of him. Army Man 1 Davy

Papers.

I’ve as much right to be here as any.

Army Man 2 You’d make jokes in favour of a heretic who’s lately tried to kill your Queen? Papers. Davy A halfwit with an unloaded gun? Not much of an assassin, was he? Anyone’d think someone put him up to it. Just cos the cunts up top might be stupid enough to believe their own lies don’t mean we have to, eh lads? Army Man 2 Papers. Davy

Got no papers.

Army Man 1 Davy

You hear that, Sarge? That’s traitor’s talk.

Come with us.

Wait. You’re a Wiltshire man?

Army Man 1

Chippenham.

Davy (smiling)

Trowbridge. Or near as makes no odds.

Army Man 2

Sarge.

Army Man 1

Wait.

Davy Wiltshire men stick together. I’d ten head of sheep and two cows ’fore the fucking squire enclosed the common and stole ’em off me. Army Man 1 Davy

The army in Holland needs the meat.

The gentry in England wants the profit.

Army Man 2 You’d starve the army, that’s fighting for justice for Hollanders? Davy

It starved me first.

Army Man 2

Traitor’s talk again. You’re a traitor.

Davy Traitor is the squire who paupered me. Traitor is him up top sets poor ’gainst poor and profits from it.

.

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Army Man 2 Davy

Come with us.

Put them in your army.

Army Man 2 country.

Prove you’re not a traitor. Fight for your

Davy (appealing to Army Man 1) Wiltshire men stick together. Beat. Army Man 1

Chippenham hates Trowbridge.

They drag him away.

Scene Ten Walsingham’s study. Night. A fire. Walsingham is ploughing through a Catholic pamphlet, his face grim. His cough has worsened. Sidney, in the showy archaic armour of chivalry, peruses a painting of the Babington conspirators. Pause. Sidney

What is that, Francis?

Walsingham Southwell’s latest epistle. ‘An Humble Supplication to Her Majestie.’ Humble?! The man doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Or many other words, judging by the revolting quality of his prose. Sidney

What’s his thesis?

Walsingham plot. Sidney

He accuses me of fomenting the Babington

You did foment the Babington plot.

Walsingham Which is why the last thing I need is a Catholic propagandist advertising the fact. What’s wrong with you, Philip? Sidney war.

I’m sorry, Francis. I’m very tired from fighting your

Beat. Walsingham rises. He puts a hand on Sidney’s shoulder.

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Walsingham It’s I who should apologise, of course. It’s . . . The Queen is vengeful. Sidney

So I’m told.

Walsingham She believes we somehow deceived her over Mary. Sir William Davison is in the Tower, and Burghley and I fortunate not to accompany him. It burns me we cannot apprehend this – (Waves pamphlet.) charlatan. And of course I’m concerned for you. How fare we in Holland? Beat. Sidney reads the motto of the painting. Sidney ‘Hi mihi sunt comites, quos ipsa pericula ducunt.’ ‘These men are my companions, drawn by the very danger.’ And please execute me as rapidly as possible. Where did you find this? Walsingham Babington’s lodgings. He and his brave fellows preserved for posterity. I thought it made an amusing keepsake. Sidney

What kind of conspirators have themselves painted ?

Walsingham Sidney

Stupid ones.

Or worse.

Walsingham

Meaning?

Beat. Sidney

Francis.

Walsingham Sidney

Philip.

I am, for my sins, a courtier.

Walsingham

And a most adept one.

Sidney The world of deceptions and delusions, false faces and flattering hands, is the one I know best. I am not naive of the necessities of governance. And no man will call me a coward. Walsingham

I’ll make sure of it.

Sidney But I would fain know that we stand on some groundrock of truth.

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Walsingham All I did was to usher Babington further along the road he chose. Sidney Forget Babington and his mob. Taffeta-swaddled muddleheads. They got what they deserved. Walsingham

Quite.

Sidney I’m talking about the war. (Beat.) It goes badly. The men see no point in it. My debts climb skyward. Walsingham

I’m aware. I will do what I can.

Sidney I do not and will not beg for special treatment. I lead charges. I execute dissenters. I have oft urged Leicester to more boldness in attack. Walsingham

He’s sent me letters complaining of the fact.

Sidney But I will not die, nor let other men die, for a fiction, some lying proxy for a true conflict. Walsingham You won’t die. (He coughs again.) You’ll outlive me, at any rate. Sidney

Frances says I’ll die. She sees it in dreams.

Walsingham I have told her, often, to keep her thoughts to herself. And it’s not a fiction. Sidney Not when you’re shin-deep in other men’s piss and brains, it’s not. Walsingham It is based on a truth of which only we know the depth. You were there with me. Paris. St Bartholomew’s Day. Protestant men and women hunted like animals across the city. The paste-grey faces of those who reached the safety of our embassy, tongues muted with shock and horror. Pools of blood drying in the sun. Severed limbs dangling from chains. Thousands dead, and the mob howling at my gates for more. Sidney

I remember it all. I was eighteen.

Walsingham That sound – the rattling of my gates and the low, unceasing howl for our blood. I have never forgotten it.

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You do not need to remind me.

Walsingham Nor the humiliation of knowing at any minute, should they so choose, the Guises could lift our diplomatic protection and let us die. That is what Catholics do, Philip. That is what they are. There is no end for Protestant England other than the gibbet if they have their way. So we must divert them to the Low Countries. The longer you can hold off the Armada, the greater our chance of building up enough strength to defeat it when it comes. It’s really our only hope. Sidney I know all that. Of course I do. And of course I’m willing to play my part. (Beat.) It’s only I don’t want to die young on a foreign field and have you invent some loathsomely heroic epitaph for me. Walsingham

You won’t die.

Sidney It’s a war, Francis. Even you cannot control all the outcomes of a war. But you can promise me you won’t stir men’s cheap passions with my mouldered bones. Beat. He stares hard at Walsingham. Sidney

Promise me.

Walsingham

Of course. You have my word.

Beat. Sidney

Very well. Continuons.

Walsingham Thank you. (Gesturing at armour.) Is that what you wear? In battle? Sidney

What’s wrong with it?

Walsingham

Don’t you need something on your legs?

Sidney (amused ) Greaves, we call them, Francis. They’re heavy, out of fashion. Walsingham Were I going to war, fashion wouldn’t be the first thing on my mind.

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Sidney But you’re not going to war, are you? (Beat.) I’ll send you dispatches. On our movements and so forth. There’s a man. Pooley. You put him in my wife’s household. He asked to come to war with me. I’ll send them via him. Walsingham Sidney

I’m not entirely sure –

Sure of what? (Pause.) I’ll see you in the morning.

He turns on his heel and leaves. Walsingham makes to go after him. Frances enters, heavily pregnant, and blocks his way. Frances He dies. His horse is killed beneath him and he dies in agony. (Beat.) I listen. I am my father’s daughter. Walsingham

Then do your father’s bidding, and cease to –

Frances I already did, when you married me to Philip. How much longer will you pull my strings, Father? Walsingham Frances

You mistake your part, Frances.

My part.

Walsingham Sidney comprehends his: the heroic knight atop a white charger. You are the maiden to whom he returns home in triumph. I am the mere scribe, placing the characters to best effect. Frances Stories. Let me ask you, Father: what happens when finally there are too many stories, and none of them seem real? And so people no longer listen? (Beat.) I have seen his death in my dreams. As clearly as I see you now. Walsingham Frances

What is your whole work but a dream?

Walsingham Frances

I cannot make policy on dreams. Philip would never get over the shame if I –

Then put him somewhere safe.

Walsingham His whole effect is at the front of the line. The warrior poet, the symbol of England. Frances Please. If not for me, for him. You care for him at least, don’t you?

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Beat. Walsingham

And that is why I cannot be seen to –

Frances (thrusts papers at him) Then sign his debts. He will not pay for your ‘policy’ with his purse as well as his life. Sign. Beat. Walsingham reluctantly signs the papers. Frances seizes them from his hand, turns on her heels and goes. A door slams. Blackout.

Scene Eleven Walsingham with Pooley in his study. Night, the two of them lit only by the single candle Pooley carries. Walsingham holds papers. Walsingham Pooley

Yes, my lord.

Walsingham Pooley

This intelligence. It does not suffice.

How not, my lord?

Walsingham (reads from papers) ‘Elizabeth is assassinated by a trail of gunpowder laid under her bed.’ I did not credit when I created such fantasies that people would believe them. Pooley royalty.

The English are a credulous nation in matters of

Walsingham (reads) ‘The Duke of Guise has landed strong forces in Sussex and marches for London, intending to coincide with an invasion from the North.’ Pooley

Is that not true?

Walsingham No. Do you know how I know it’s not true? Because it is a rumour I invented, to stir up the populace and quash dissent. Pooley I can only report what I hear, Your Honour. Unless you would prefer I do not report to you all that I hear?

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Walsingham ‘The overthrow of Elizabeth is begun and London is ablaze.’ Pooley

Is it?

Walsingham Pooley

No.

Do you want me to check?

Pause. Walsingham Pooley

You are still inward with the Catholics?

Ever more inward, Your Lordship.

Walsingham you report?

What do they make of these false rumours

Pooley They are delighted. It gives them to expect their deliverance post haste. Walsingham How comforting for them. Almost as if you disseminate Spain’s own propaganda. Pooley Begging your indulgence, Your Honour, it is, as you yourself observed, your propaganda. Beat. Walsingham Ever more inward. And yet you can proffer me no glimpse of the Armada? Nor find me any trace of Southwell? Pooley Alack, not as yet, my lord. Though perchance with a small augmentation of revenues – Walsingham waves an angry hand. Pooley It has become more difficult since Sir Philip took me to Holland. Walsingham Sir Philip’s dispatches. You keep them close? You do not show them elsewhere? Pooley them?

But of course, my lord. To whom else would I show

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Walsingham It is very important to me that his intelligence, and whereabouts, remain undisclosed. Do you understand me? Pooley I am as true to you now as ever I was, Master Secretary Walsingham. Pause. Walsingham

Who are you, Pooley?

Pooley I am Robert Pooley, honoured subject of the Crown and humble servant to yourself, Master Secretary. Walsingham

Who are you?

Pooley Is Your Lordship familiar with the paradox of the Cretan liar? ‘All Cretans are liars,’ says the Cretan. Now if he tells the truth, he forswears himself, for the truth is he is a liar. And if he lies, he forswears himself likewise, for if Cretans are not liars, then how can he lie? Walsingham Pooley

You admit you lie then.

Only in a Cretan manner, Your Honour.

Beat. A loud gunshot. Phelippes enters at pace. Phelippes

My lord –

Walsingham Phelippes

What was that?

Sidney is dead.

Pooley blows out his candle and disappears, leaving Walsingham in the dark.

Scene Twelve A drummer beating slow time on a huge drum muffled in black crepe leads a group of men bearing Sidney’s coffin. Walsingham, crushed, watches with Cecil, breaking into savage coughing as they pass. Pause after they leave.

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Cecil Seven hundred paid mourners. That must have set you back a bit. Walsingham Cecil

Gangrene. Terrible way to go. Very slow.

Walsingham Cecil

It was the least I could do. For such a remarkable man.

He should have worn greaves, I’m surprised he didn’t.

Walsingham Friends who joined my orbit for me remained in it only for him. Cecil That’s as may be. You’ve done well there, Francis. Very well. Walsingham

By him? You think so?

Cecil By him? What an extraordinary concern. By the war. Ten-gun salutes. Commemorative books. Noble gallantry, chivalrous sacrifice and a rousing sense of patriotism across the land. There wasn’t much belief in the war before, but there is now. Best thing Sidney ever did for his country, getting himself killed. Walsingham

He was my son-in-law, William.

Cecil And no one can say you too have not made sacrifices, eh? You’ve woven an enduring English myth, Francis, one we can use for a long time hereafter. (Beat.) Oh, don’t tell me you’re letting sentiment play a part? After all this time? Walsingham

He was my closest to a son.

Cecil He was an agent. And like all agents, disposable. As you said: the final service they must render us is their death. It’s not a world for feeling, dear boy. Frances enters in widow’s veils. Cecil Ah, here’s Lady Sidney. Poor girl. She was much consoled by the story of Sidney’s demise. Sir Philip in the litter at Zutphen, mortally wounded, handing his water bottle to a common infantryman. ‘Thy necessity is yet much greater than

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mine.’ It’s a wonderful epitaph, the perfect balance between bravery and self-sacrifice. Walsingham

Thank you.

Frances approaches, icy with rage. Frances

Lord Burghley.

Cecil My condolences, Lady Sidney. And also for the loss of the child. Frances Thank you. Father. May I say I am surprised to see you here? Walsingham

Frances, with all my heart –

Frances After violating your word so shamelessly? What was the one promise you made him? Walsingham Frances

I did not say I could keep him alive.

But immediately reneged upon?

Walsingham

I never said –

Frances I told you he’d be killed. I was reconciled, almost, to that. But you promised him there’d be no cheap patriotic tricks. You wouldn’t use his name to make roisterers in shabby taverns slur drunken oaths to the Queen. And yet you did. You made his epitaph, and thus his life, a lie. You wrapped his still warm bones in the flag and jiggled them to make them dance for fools’ amusement. You betrayed him. (Beat.) Well, it wasn’t you I came to speak with. Lord Burghley. Cecil

Yes?

Frances Cecil

My Lord Essex is your ward.

Yes.

Frances My Lord Essex has expressed an intention to court me. Walsingham no –

Essex? That arrogant little show-off ? Under

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Frances I wish to seek your permission to broker our marriage. Cecil

That’s very . . . quick.

Frances No time to waste. The coming man, Essex. So everyone says. Walsingham

Frances, this is far too sudden. Let us consider –

Frances Consider what? To whom you might package me up and trade me next? For what chips and commodities I might be exchanged, like a consignment of indigo or one of your lesser spies? Thank you, Father, I’ve made my decision. Cecil

I’ll convey your interest.

Frances

I already have.

Walsingham Frances

You’re grieving. Your mind is befogged.

I’ve never felt clearer-headed.

Walsingham I would like to have you in the house for a while. While we are both bereft. Let me look after you. Frances

With what, Father? You have no money.

Cecil Yes, you undersigned Sidney’s debts, didn’t you, Francis? Perhaps you should ask the Queen for Babington’s lands, before she gives them to someone else. Phelippes comes running in, breathless. Phelippes

Southwell.

Walsingham Phelippes

We found Southwell, sir.

Walsingham Phelippes

What? Where?

Topcliffe has him. At the Tower.

Cecil Topcliffe, eh? I’d hurry if I were you. Might not be all that much left. Walsingham

Frances, I . . . Please let us continue this –

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Go on, Father. Off you trot.

Beat. Walsingham hurries away.

Scene Thirteen Torture chamber, the Tower of London. The torturer, Richard Topcliffe, sits by the racked broken form of Robert Southwell, eating a chicken leg. Beat. Topcliffe Know when I last saw meat that dripped like this? It was Queen Bess’s own quim the last time I fucked her. Southwell moans. Topcliffe You don’t believe me? You don’t know the Queen. Likes a bit of rough. Most birds do. Not quite like what I done to you, to be fair. He chews the chicken with gusto. Southwell moans again. Walsingham bursts in. Walsingham

Can he speak?

Topcliffe Not as well as he could before I tortured him, sir. And his running days are over. But it’s only a short hobble from cart to gallows. Walsingham Topcliffe

Information, sir?

Walsingham Topcliffe sir.

What information did you glean? The Armada. Spain’s invasion plans!

I wasn’t aware that information was our priority,

Walsingham

This man has vital –

Topcliffe Ah, I’m only joshing. (He holds a sheet of writing.) I have it for you. Everything he knows, in his own fair hand. S’pose he thought it’d make me stop.

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Walsingham seizes the paper eagerly and begins to scan it. His face drops. His voice is low and dangerous. Walsingham Topcliffe

Is this a joke?

’Scuse me, sir?

Walsingham

This statement is worthless.

Topcliffe That’ll be the manacles. They often find it hard to write after ’em. Walsingham again. Topcliffe

It is nothing but my name, over and over

Didn’t read it, Your Honour.

Walsingham gets close to Topcliffe, who takes a big bite of chicken. Walsingham Topcliffe

What is the purpose of torture?

The purpose, sir?

Walsingham

Why are you permitted to do this?

Topcliffe By your own legal sanction. I have the regulation posted on the wall. ‘To enforce such measures as render guilt evidently probable by confession – ’ Walsingham Topcliffe.

Do not quote my own laws at me, Master

Topcliffe ‘And not unless he first refuses to tell the truth at the Queen’s Command,’ which naturally he did, being a Jesuit, and so only capable of lies. He takes another bite. Walsingham crumples the confession in his hand. Walsingham The purpose, Topcliffe, the sole and unique purpose of torture is to elicit information necessary to the security of the realm – Topcliffe See, that’s where I disagrees with you, Your Honour. The purpose of torture is to torture. Walsingham

It is to make us safe –

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Topcliffe It’s to let ’em know that we’re saved and they’re damned, and to give ‘em a taste of that damnation that’s coming for ’em. That’s all. As to what they say, well, in my experience a man’ll say anything once he’s on there to get off again, so I wouldn’t pay it too much mind. If you’re wanting my opinion, Master Seckertry. (Beat,) Will you be wanting me for this next session, sir? Walsingham

I will not.

Topcliffe leaves. Walsingham splashes water on Southwell’s face. He stirs. Walsingham Southwell

Robert Southwell. At long, long last.

Walsingham. I’ve been waiting for you.

Walsingham

Oh, the same.

Southwell Waiting to meet Antichrist. To meet him and combat him. Walsingham Then you’re to be disappointed, Robert. I’m a man just as yourself. Only better, morally and otherwise. Southwell To vanquish him through unwavering devotion to my purpose, and so to prove mine is the superior faith. Walsingham have thought.

Difficult to vanquish me from down there, I’d

Hr walks around the prone Southwell, inspecting him. Pause. Walsingham You’re not as impressive in the flesh as your propagandists make out. I was led to expect a new Adonis, a towering paragon of human beauty neither man nor woman could countermand. Southwell degraded.

Perhaps such things are important to the

Walsingham But then Topcliffe can do that to a man. I’m sorry you were subjected to such indignities. At least before I could see them.

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Southwell

No more than I expected from you.

Walsingham But I’m sure you enjoyed it in any case. Fond of the mortification of the flesh, your lot. Southwell

Of our own volition.

Walsingham

Would you like it again?

Southwell More than listening to you. The harsh and smoky caw of the heretic. Walsingham Oh, don’t be like that, Robert. Before I kill you, with great suffering and even greater humiliation, I’d like to understand you. Your type interests me: so much fervour and conviction in the service of such utter falsity. You’re not a stupid man, yet cannot see your plain errors. Southwell You’d be better served delivering that peroration to your mirror. Walsingham Come now. Don’t try to draw some false parallel between us. Southwell Oh, I would never do that. We give up all the gilded trappings of the earth for our faith. You surrender faith for trappings. No comparison. Walsingham

I have dedicated my life to my faith.

Southwell And how many estates and titles did you stumble on in the bargain? Would you die for what you believe in, Walsingham? That’s the question. Walsingham to you.

Perhaps St Bartholomew’s Day is unfamiliar

Southwell Perhaps Bishop Fisher, Thomas More and Edmund Campion are unfamiliar to you, though I very much doubt it. You can no more ‘understand’ me than a fly can understand why it bumps against a window glass. Pause. Walsingham Well, then, Robert, to the matter in hand. What will you tell me of Spain’s plans?

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Nothing, of course.

Walsingham I can offer you comforts. Food. Writing paper, though not for any of your woeful screeds. A way off the rack. Southwell death.

There is nothing you can offer me except for

Walsingham Which you’ll get. But I can make things much more pleasant, in the interim. Southwell laughs. Walsingham Give me intelligence. Tell me Spain’s movements, the timing of her launch, the strength of her fleet, and I can gift you a better end. Southwell I have no intelligence. What on earth makes you think I would? Walsingham You’re the Jesuit figurehead, the symbol of subversion. Of course you know something. Southwell

I don’t. Not my job, you see.

Walsingham

Then what is?

Southwell To be killed. In public. By you. (Beat.) What? It really hadn’t occurred to you I might have let you catch me? (He laughs again, harshly and painfully.) Oh dear. You’re not as bright as we were led to believe. I want you to kill me, Walsingham. In front of a crowd of thousands. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of – Walsingham

Why would you want – ?

Southwell Don’t you know you’re our finest recruiter? The people come from miles around to every Catholic execution, and they see the grace and bravery with which we succumb, and they wonder: what is it that gives those men such dignity? What hidden truth do they possess that I do not? And they ask for us. Walsingham

Lies.

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Southwell That is the way we vanquish you. How we prove we are the better men. And why after every martyrdom, our numbers soar. Martyr me. Walsingham Southwell Tyburn.

Speak to me, Robert. Offer something.

Martyr me. Hang, draw and quarter me at

Walsingham

It’s a waste otherwise.

Southwell If you won’t, Walsingham, what will you do with me? For I have no intelligence. Walsingham tightens the rack. Southwell winces. Walsingham Southwell beliefs.

There are ways to test that claim.

Use them. All you’ll find is that I will die for my

Walsingham

I am giving you a choice –

Southwell No, I am giving you one. Martyr me, or free me to preach once more against the accursed whore who squats pissing atop the kingdom of England. Walsingham

Now, now, Robert.

Southwell The whore of the Apocalypse, in whose name men are hanged by the hands eight, nine, twelve hours till their wits and senses fail them – Walsingham I know what you’re doing. I’m not a fool. You’re baiting me. He tightens the rack further. Southwell cries out but continues. Southwell Consumed with vermin and kept from sleep till past the use of reason and scarce can give their own names. For this is the kingdom of the witch – Walsingham Witch, you say?! You know who are the vilest witches of the earth? You Catholic priests who consecrate bones and ashes, oils and creams, conjure spells and smells,

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who scatter the Host in fields to ward off caterpillars! The four hundred ‘sacred’ fingers of John the Baptist, worshipped by four hundred sets of credulous cretins all across Europe! Crawling on your bellies unthinking and terrified before a plaster saint! The ignorance and superstition and stupid terror of it all! Southwell

Martyr me.

Walsingham Southwell

I won’t give you the pleasure.

Martyr me! Martyr me! MARTYR ME!

Walsingham steps back, raging, defeated. Southwell stares in triumphant agony. Walsingham

Topcliffe!

Topcliffe enters. Walsingham

Do as you will.

He exits. Topcliffe wipes his greasy fingers daintily and steps to the rack. As the light goes gradually down, a single horrific shriek goes up.

Scene Fourteen Walsingham in his study with Phelippes, frantically handing him papers. Walsingham Get these to Leicester in Holland. Three hundred horse, five hundred foot. The best I could do. Phelippes

Yes, sir.

Walsingham

This report to Ambassador Stafford in Paris –

He is cut off by a fit of coughing. Phelippes

But Stafford we know for a double agent, sir.

Walsingham Which is why he is to receive a report saying we cannot mount an attack on Spain by sea. Meanwhile Drake is to attack Cadiz, by sea. Shut up and do as I say.

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Phelippes

Yes, sir.

Walsingham Get Drake out on the coming tide. Our blessed Queen must not be able to change her mind yet again. Elizabeth

Walsingham!

He turns. From the shadows steps Elizabeth. Phelippes melts away. Beat. Walsingham Your Majesty. I’m honoured. What brings you to my humble – ? Elizabeth I came to check on your health. The court talks of little else. ‘Where is Walsingham? What will we do against Spain when he dies?’ Walsingham Elizabeth

Wearying, I’m sure.

The only thing more tedious is the tennis.

Walsingham

Tennis?

Elizabeth It’s all the rage now summer’s here. I can’t imagine anything drearier: back, forth, back, into the hazard. They tell me it has some deeper metaphysic, but all I can see is two men hitting a ball. And do you know, the Englishman never wins? Somehow the foreign fellow always comes out on top. Walsingham If Your Majesty has more patience, the English side will prevail. Elizabeth How long must I be ‘patient’? With your little war? Not so little now. Walsingham Elizabeth is dry.

You must hold your course.

My coffers are empty, Walsingham. My treasury

Walsingham

You must keep your –

Elizabeth (screams) I must what? I must what, you coneycatching little cunt? I am THE QUEEN. (Beat. Sweetly.) Do you know what it means, ‘coney-catching’? A playwright fellow taught it me the other day, under some duress. Poor man, he

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thought I would chop his head off, but it tickled me. What kind of coneys tickle your fancy, Walsingham? There must be something you enjoy, apart from files. Boys? Girls? Little boys? Little girls? Tell me and I will buy you some. Walsingham

I understand Your Majesty’s anger.

Elizabeth I will buy you whatever you want. I have money. Oh no, I forgot. You spent it all fighting for tall stringy Dutch fuckers whose names I can’t pronounce. Walsingham prevail.

Given more funds, I am confident we will

Elizabeth Is it me? Is it my name that stiffens your cock, secretly, late in the night? Is it this you want? She takes his hand and places it between her thighs. Pause. Walsingham

I am not Topcliffe, Madam.

Elizabeth ( flinging his hand away) No, you’re not, are you? More’s the pity, I’d know what you were then. What kind of man doesn’t like women and clothes? Walsingham A man too busy with the security of Queen and realm to – Elizabeth But the Queen doesn’t feel secure, do you understand?! Since your rise to prominence, I have war in Ireland, war with France, and war in the Low Countries. Not to mention the Pope wanting my bollocks on a stick. Walsingham

That dates from before my time.

Elizabeth And every time things seem to go in our favour, up you pop with something else I should be afeard of. Walsingham

Security never sleeps.

Elizabeth But I would like to! But instead a nightmare comes, where in fear I unlock the door to a chamber of nameless horrors, to find it contains nothing but another locked door. And the next the same, and the next. Nothing is ever found, but the dread remains. And you’re the one

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handing me the keys, promising each time ‘This is the last . . . ’ (Beat. She shivers.) No more money for the Low Countries. Walsingham Elizabeth

More than possible. I say so, therefore it is.

Walsingham Elizabeth queen?

Impossible. Then you sign your own death warrant.

Who should sign a queen’s death warrant but a

Walsingham With respect, Madam, there is more to England than a queen. Elizabeth

Oh. Ohhhh. Is that your little game?

Walsingham I only mean there will be kings and queens after your present self. Elizabeth And how many are there now? (Beat. Screams.) HOW MANY? Walsingham

One, Your Majesty.

Elizabeth So no, there is no more to England than the Queen. These are England’s fingers, England’s hands. And when England’s tongue commands you, you fucking listen. No more money for the shithouse Low Countries. Walsingham Do you understand why we are in such danger? Because Philip had the foresight to make his country not a bauble of the accidentally high-born, not a family keepsake at our expense, but a nation. Spain has interests, powers, armies, not just when a monarch yowls for them, but always and in perpetuity. Spain has systems of taxation, systems of justice and of commerce, and most of all she has a lucrative empire that stretches to the New World, the kind of empire I have been pressing on you for decades – Elizabeth

Walsingham.

Walsingham That, Your Majesty, is why Spain is stronger than we, and why we will be lucky to survive her. And if we do

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survive her, we must become her. Conquer colonies. Build an empire. Become more than the mere rude plaything of those whelped beneath a crown. Pause. Elizabeth I could have you hung. Make you dance on a rope. Have your privities cut off and brought me on a white silk cushion. Walsingham

It might present some legal complexities.

Elizabeth But I could. Couldn’t I? As the Queen. (Beat.) Do you think I don’t see where you’ve been taking me? Power no longer in my word but in – (Gestures at files.) your many? The usurpation of my throne by a group of clerks? You men of files, you’re the traitors, not Mary. You want to be king instead of me. A paper king, whose veins run cold ink instead of blood. I should have killed you instead. Walsingham All I have done has been for Queen and country. Never for self. Elizabeth And what good has it done me? You claim your kind of knowledge makes us safer, but it doesn’t. All it serves is to make us more afraid, and so drive us further into your arms. You set yourself up as both curse and alleviation, don’t you, Walsingham? As affliction and cure. And you profit from them all. Walsingham I have paid my price in your service, Madam, in monies and in things more dear. Sidney’s goods do not suffice for even a third of his debts – Elizabeth

I don’t care. In fact, I’m glad.

Walsingham Elizabeth

If I had Babington’s lands –

I’m giving them to Raleigh.

Walsingham service –

In recompense for my great and honest

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Elizabeth He dresses better. Not a penny for you, shoemaker. And not a penny for the Low Countries. Phelippes enters, bowing low, thrusting papers at Walsingham. Phelippes My lord, I am loath to intrude, but you will want to read these. Walsingham Phelippes coming.

What are they?

Despatches, sir. From Cornwall. The Armada’s

Walsingham

Now?

Elizabeth All the money I gave you, all the time, and you failed to predict it! You spies never see the important things! You never prevent the important things! You’ll win this war, then I’ll never see your face again. She sweeps away in contemptuous rage.

Scene Fifteen Walsingham in the middle of a flow of men running in and out of the room, taking orders and passing and receiving documents from him. He coughs frequently. Walsingham What horse and foot do we have? What powder, what shot, what field pieces? Send them to the ports. Reinforce the harbours. Make a barricade of ship’s masts and lay it across the Thames. Enter Sir Charles Howard, admiral of the fleet. Howard They’re off the Lizard, Francis. The tide is against us, we cannot engage. Walsingham

How many sail?

Howard A hundred and twenty, perhaps more. Pray God they do not fall upon us yet. He exits.

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Walsingham (to men) Rouse the population. Put out word the Spanish have orders to slaughter all Englishmen over the age of seven. They carry knotted whips so fierce the worst devils of Hell would not use them, and hot irons to engrave the faces of your children so they will ever after be known as scions of a conquered people. Howard re-enters. Howard The Armada has turned east! We’re upwind of them, with the advantage of the weather gage! Walsingham Harry them! Don’t let them anchor in the Solent, at all costs! Howard Calais.

We’ve driven them on! They are headed for

Walsingham To escort Parma’s army across from Dunkirk. Thirty thousand men. We’re dead if they do. Now’s the crucial time, Howard. Howard fireships.

We have them at anchor. I am sending in the

A group of replica ships. Burning vessels are pushed among them. The whole lot catches fire. As the conflagration rises, Walsingham sinks to his knees. Howard The Spanish are scattered and on the run! The wind drives them north to Scotland. I would pursue, but typhus and mortality grow wondrously amongst my men. Can you do nothing for them, Francis? To let them die unattended in the streets of Margate, after such service . . . Walsingham waves him off then collapses, racked with pain and coughing. Howard exits. Feverishly, Walsingham sees himself on the rack, leered over by Topcliffe. Topcliffe

Hold still, sir. This might hurt.

He plunges a metal spike into Walsingham’s arm and blood flows freely. Walsingham roars.

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Topcliffe

He wrenches. More blood and roaring. Walsingham What are you doing, Topcliffe? I am Sir Francis Walsingham – I know that. That’s why you’re here.

Topcliffe

Walsingham

I am not suited for this treatment –

Topcliffe Do you think you’re too good for it, sir? No man is too good for it. If the times allow. Elizabeth enters, her face a mask of hostility. Elizabeth

Once more.

Walsingham

Majesty! Topcliffe!

Topcliffe twists the blade and a fountain of blood spurts into the air. Walsingham passes out. When he comes to, he is on a bed in his study, under the supervision of a Doctor ( played by the actor who plays Topcliffe). Blood on the white sheets. Doctor

Ah, you’re awake, Your Honour.

Walsingham tries to rise. Doctor

Don’t get up, you’ve had quite a letting.

He shows him a silver bowl full of blood. Walsingham slumps back. Walsingham Doctor

It’s normal practice, sir.

Walsingham Doctor

How long have I been asleep?

Two days.

Walsingham Doctor

You take so much?

And does my condition improve?

You’re no worse than yesterday.

Walsingham

And how was I yesterday?

Doctor Ill. But I have something will get you on your feet in no time.

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He turns away. The high-pitched whine of a drill starts up. Walsingham Doctor

I fancy I did you wrong, Doctor.

How’s that, Your Honour?

Walsingham In my fever I mistook you for a man in my employ, a notorious villain who – Doctor The former rackmaster Topcliffe, sir. You did mention his name, yes. It’s understandable, given the family resemblance. He turns back to Walsingham. There is something sinister in his aspect. Doctor

He’s my brother, sir.

Walsingham

Ah.

Again the whine of a drill. He cranes his head to look for it. What is that noise? Doctor It’s not a helpful resemblance in my line of work. Myself being a man of healing and him being . . . somewhat the opposite. Walsingham Doctor

Former rackmaster, did you say?

Yes, sir. He’s lately taken on a new employ.

Walsingham

What is that?

Doctor He’s become a Member of Parliament, sir. The member for Old Sarum. Walsingham

You’re not serious?

Doctor He can be very persuasive when he wishes to be, as I’m sure you know. He says that overall he met a better calibre of man when he worked for you. Now if you’ll lie back, this won’t take a minute. He raises a hand-powered drill with a sharp, glinting point. Walsingham

What –

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Doctor Trepanation, sir. It’s the humours in your cranium giving you the problems. They’re overheating your brain. I’ll just pop a quick hole in your skull and you’ll be right as rain . . . Walsingham

No . . . no . . .

He tries to rise but he is too weak and the Doctor easily forces him down onto the bed, bringing the drill closer to his head as the sound starts up again. Blackout.

Scene Sixteen Light from a large standing candle illuminates Walsingham, head swathed in bloody bandages, pale and shrunken, near death. He stirs and mumbles in his sleep. The sound of a door closing awakens him. Walsingham

Who’s there?

Beat. Frances emerges from the darkness. Frances

Hello, Father.

He tries to rise. She pushes him back easily. Don’t get up. The doctor tells me you’re going to die. I came to make sure of it. Pause. Walsingham Frances

In my will, Frances, there is an annuity for you.

I don’t need your money.

Walsingham Three hundred pounds. I would it were more, but Sidney’s debts – Frances My Lord Essex will provide. My Lord Essex has also undertaken the arrangements for your funeral. A sober, small-scale affair, he thinks, in light of your disfavour with the Queen, and in keeping with the mood of the nation and your finances. No arrogance. No showing off. Beat. Walsingham

Clever girl.

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Frances You’ll be buried in St Paul’s. Next to Philip. A wooden placard should suffice for your headstone. To capture your spirit of austerity. Beat. Walsingham Frances Father.

Frances . . . In all my doings for you, I always –

Don’t. Don’t try now. Too late. (Beat,) Goodbye,

She leaves. Walsingham’s eye falls on his files. He staggers over to them. Beat. Walsingham

Did I keep you? Or did you keep me?

Seized with rage and remorse, he flings a handful to the floor. Cecil (offstage)

Now, now, Francis. It’s a little late for regrets.

From the shadows emerges Cecil, composed, seemingly grown in health. Walsingham

William! What are you doing here?

Cecil Can’t you guess? Time to make peace with your Maker, dear boy. Walsingham

God and my conscience are my own affair.

Cecil I was referring, old friend, to me. I could hardly let the quintessential seeker of knowledge go to his grave without a little enlightenment. He steers a protesting Walsingham back to his bed and sits him down. Cecil

Sit down, Francis. Time for a story.

Walsingham Cecil

Lord Burghley, when I am recovered –

You still don’t see it, do you? Even now.

Walsingham

I will return to my position, and you –

Cecil ‘Men’s weaknesses are more useful than their merits.’ That was certainly true of you. Beat.

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Walsingham

Who – ?

Cecil My spy, of course. He told me everything. Come in, Thomas. Into the light steps Phelippes, grinning. Beat. Walsingham Cecil

Should have thought of that.

Yes, you should.

Walsingham Phelippes the best.

Well done, Thomas. Excellent work.

Thank you, Master Secretary. I learned from

Walsingham

Thank you.

Phelippes (contemptuous) Cecil

I didn’t mean you.

You may begin.

Phelippes begins to carry the files out of the room. Walsingham

Leave those! They are –

He tries to get up but Cecil puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back. Cecil

They will be put to good use, have no fear.

Walsingham You had a man to watch me. Congratulations. It means nothing. Cecil Your weakness, Walsingham, was arrogance. Right from the start I saw it. You could never imagine another man might be as clever as you. Cleverer, perhaps. (Beat.) Many years ago, I came to something of a hiatus with Elizabeth. As you have discovered, she is malicious, bitter and spendthrift. Not to mention obsessed with filthy copulation. Walsingham

How dare you, Burghley!

Cecil Come, now. Prurience, really? I’ve read your files, Francis. Thomas lent me the best ones. Detailed, aren’t they? Evocative. She mainly likes it from behind the throne, as if you didn’t know. Of all the webs I’ve woven, the myth of the

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Virgin Queen is the one I’m most proud of. So bloody hard to pull off. Walsingham

No wonder you fell from favour.

Cecil Give me time, dear boy, we’re coming to that. Three things had become apparent to me. The traitor Mary must depart this realm apace. The bubbling pot of dissenting shit that is our yeoman citizenry must be stilled into silence. And money, real money, must be spent on surveillance. If Queen and Court were too vacuous and self-indulgent to safeguard this country, the intelligence services would have to do it for them. And it was equally apparent to me that Elizabeth would do none of these things. Walsingham

Yet I achieved them, all of them, every one.

Cecil Ah, dear Francis, shovelling out one last scoop of soil from his own grave. Let me put it another way: she would not do such things without conceiving a vicious and perpetual hatred for the man who made her do them. A hatred such as would destroy his health, bankrupt his finances, and kill what he had for a son. A dawning horror crosses Walsingham’s face. Cecil smiles. Cecil So it became clear to me, and finally you see where I lead you, that what I needed was a proxy. Walsingham

No. I am no proxy.

Cecil And so I found one. So zealous in service of his position, he never felt my fingers flex his joints like the little leather puppets men show in the streets for coins. Walsingham

No. No. You did not make me –

Cecil I set myself as the voice of moderation, the shoulder the old crone could slobber on. And in due time, I saw my proxy achieve all I sought and more. And likewise suffer the fate I had foreseen. Walsingham

I made myself, by my zeal and talent –

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Cecil What you’ve made, Walsingham, is an apparatus of security which will never be dismantled. Which will be the ever-growing centre of power in this country long after the rule of this queen, and all queens, comes to an end. And which I will now hand over, root and branch, to my son Robert. Walsingham manage it!

That grovelling hunchback? He can’t

Cecil Time will tell. You have no sons, do you, Walsingham? Only a daughter. A daughter who hates you, and debts. Pause. Walsingham summons up all his dignity for a rebuttal. Walsingham

I did all I have done for Queen and country.

Cecil I’m sure that and your wooden plaque are of great consolation to you. Myself, I’d rather have money and power. Walsingham collapses into a coughing that racks his whole body. Cecil (to Phelippes) Phelippes

How much longer, Thomas?

Some time, sir. There are a lot of them.

Cecil You can leave the ones from Barbary in any case. I have three men there. (He glances dispassionately at Walsingham, then back to Phelippes.) Leave them for now. There’s nothing to perturb us here. Let’s have a drink. In celebration. Phelippes

Yes, sir.

They begin to leave. Walsingham expends his last reserves of energy. Walsingham Cecil

It’s useless to you. It is ended.

What is ended?

Walsingham

The threat, the war . . . It is ended.

Cecil And the next one? And the next? I’d have thought you the last man to counsel such complacency. Can you promise me, our idiot Queen, our gullible and fearful population, there will be no more threats? Now? Next year? For ever? Walsingham tries to answer but is subsumed in another coughing fit.

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Cecil Then if you cannot promise me that, it cannot end, can it, Francis? Walsingham is thrown from his bed to the floor by the violence of the attack. Cecil and Phelippes stop by the standing candle. They watch Walsingham with dispassion and, most humiliatingly of all, a degree of pity. Beat. Cecil

Goodbye, Walsingham.

He extinguishes the standing candle. Blackout. End of play.

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